Vengeance
by Asutex
Summary: It was like she was waking from a deep, restful sleep. No... No, that wasn't right... It was more than just awakening. It was a rebirth. She had been reincarnated into her own body. -Vampire Diaries!Glee-
1. Chapter 1

_**1945**_

_**Dachau Concentration Camp, (Bavaria) Germany**_

The sky was beautiful and cloudless. The sun's rays bathed the barren earth with relentless warmth and baked every inch of flesh exposed through tattered clothing. A repulsive odor of sickly-sweetness and something like rotten meat hovered over the area but was strongest over a wide, shallow pit that was occupied to the brim. It was suffocating, revolting and all too familiar. It was the smell that would forever stay in her mind and haunt her every moment so long as her heart was still beating.

It could only be God's good blessing that this damned existence of hers would come to an end soon enough. She could fell what strength remained being drained away by the day's heat. There was no water, there was no food, and she was dying. Slowly, agonizingly, but at least she was dying. The worst would be over within the day. It had to be. She had no means of ending it herself.

And so, she lay there on the ground. Her heart was the only one left beating in a pretty large radius. The survivors who were able to move had long ago shuffled to wait pitifully by the gates for their saviors; their liberators. Rachel thought them fools. All there would ever be was death and disappointment. How could they ever believe otherwise after what had happened? The Nazis had fled for fear of an absent enemy and had left the remaining Jews to die without food or water. Yes, the bastards had taken great care to burn the warehouse of supplies and destroy all access to water. Even under threat of imminent attack, they had still had the time to deliver that last blow to their hated captives.

Her eyelids were leaden; were heavily weighted down by dehydration, starvation and illness. Well, the Nazis would be pleased to know that there would be one less by nightfall.

Loathing commanded her next thoughts and brutal they were. If she was stronger, faster and better equipped, she would inflict just pains and horrors on those bestial Germans. They would pay dearly for what they had done to her family; her friends. Her best friend, Dena, had been deemed worthless and sent to the gas chambers, but not before some demon of a man had had his fill of her. Her mother was sent to the work camp. Her adulterous father and his lover, having been forced to wear pink patches upon their clothing, were singled out for their homosexuality and beaten horribly with guns and stabbed with combat knives. Their throats had been slit and they had been left on the ground to die. So they had.

Her twelve-year old sister, Lilith, and her twin brother, Levi, had been parted from each other. From the moment that they had been born, the pair had been inseparable. They were the best of friends. Rachel had never again seen two people who were so close in her life. The twins, without parents and accompanied only by their sister, had screamed for each other. They had cried and fought tooth and nail to be kept together.

Levi - stubborn, lanky and agile - had violently wrestled with the Germans fiends. He kicked and punch, raking his nails across faces and into eyes while flailing his legs dangerously close to oh-so delicate masculine flesh. Lilith - small, smart, and athletic - had even been able to squirm out enemy hands more than once. On the final occasion, she was just about to reach her brother when the gun rang out once. Twice. A third and fourth time. A fifth and final time. Lilith appeared confused when she suddenly collapsed to the ground; bewildered when met Levi's gaze and heard his screaming, saw his wide brown eyes streaming tears; utterly bemused when blood bubbled from her mouth and finally uncomprehending when a Nazi soldier leveled his Karabiner 98k between her eyes and pulled the trigger. Everyone nearby was showered with bits of skull, spattered blood and skin and hair, and globs of brain matter. It all happened in a matter of seconds that stretched on like decades.

Levi, unable to take his eyes from his twin's corpse, kept calling for help. He wanted someone, anyone, to help him; to resist the soldiers; to fight back. No one came. He delivered a particularly nasty blow to the face when the assaulted Nazi shoved him forward viciously and aimed his MP43 at her brother's chest and emptied bullets into the youth. Rachel was forced into the line of women and lost sight of Levi even as the boy began his long, agonizingly slow fall backwards. Rachel never saw Levi hit the ground. The only immediate family member that remained was her mother. The woman had tried to help and care for her sweet, talented daughter. However, it hadn't lasted into the second year. Her mother, weak and malnourished, had fallen ill and died.

She was alone.

Now, she was sixteen. Sixteen years of age and Rachel Berry wanted nothing more than to rip Germans limb from limb. She wanted to slice open their bodies and laugh as they bled. She wanted to tear open their bellies to show them how it was to see their own guts spilled onto the earth. She wanted to hear them beg for death, but be unable to grasp it.

"This one's alive still." A feminine voice.

What?

"Is she?" A different voice; a second woman.

Rachel was without the strength to open her eyes. She was at their mercy, but fear rose in her throat and the hairs on her nape sprang to attention.

"Isn't that what I just said?" Annoyance. Then a deep, blood-chilling snarl that followed and seemed to effectively drive the point home. "Sorry, sorry, I got it... You're older and could rip my head off without a second thought..."

"She's suffering, Santana." The second voice was smooth and touched by warmth. A touch to her neck then the horrifying sensation of lips pressing against her pulse point. The first woman, Santana, muttered something inaudible but earned herself another growl. There was something about the gentleness of the woman, the light touches feathering her skin and whispered sounds in her ear, that calmed her fears. The uncertainty began to ebb away.

"Just leave her to die her mortal death already. It's close enough." The one called Santana scoffed.

"Oh, Santana, don't be jealous. You know, there was a time when I saved you. Do you not remember? The Franco-Spanish War, Lopez. Soldiers of the Holy Roman Empire killed your brother in battle, you wanted revenge and tried to exact it, and they beat you. They beat you and enslaved you. They were a rogue group of pitiful men and you got what you wanted. I would think that this one might want the same thing. Perhaps she wants a chance to get back at those damn Nazis..."

"_Y-yes_..." Her voice was little more than a hoarse croak, but it seemed that they had heard her. Rachel hadn't the slightest war what these people were on about, but she knew that if they were offering a chance to get back at those hellish servants of the Third Reich, she would do anything that they wanted. Her pathetic affirmation of vengeful bloodlust earned a laugh.

"There you had it, then. Girl... this will hurt."

The pain was akin to being stabbed in the throat, but, without the strength to fight against whatever this person was doing, Rachel only had to lay there with nothing but weak cries. They had been taunting her! All along, it must have been their plan to slaughter her. Bitter resentment crept into her heart as it beat wildly from the fear of what was happening. It felt as though the woman had _bitten_ her. What was this monstrosity? Had a cannibalistic pair of homosexuals decided to feed upon her withered flesh? How had they gotten into the camp? Why hadn't she thought to ask herself that very question before agreeing to be eaten by this woman?

And then her mouth was forced open carefully and something cold pressed to her lips. It tasted as though liquified copper had spilled onto her tongue and then came the other taste. Revulsion churned her stomach as her body struggled to find the power to reject this sanguine offering being pressed on her. And yet, Rachel's arms rose from the ground with a strange, renewed vigor. Small hands wrapped around what could only be the woman's forearm and pressed it against her mouth. What had she been thinking just moments ago? How was this disgusting, again? No, this was by no means a reason to be revolted. In fact, this glorious drink could only be hailed as... magic. Brown eyes flew open as she set eyes on her companions for the first time, still suckling like a babe.

There they were.

The first, further back, was Santana. She gazed on with a slight smirk of amusement at Rachel's sudden eagerness to gulp down more and more blood. The woman was beautiful and exotic with raven hair as smooth as glass and deep brown eyes like chocolate. Her skin was tanned and as flawless as her figure. Santana Lopez: a Spaniard? It was curious to see a Spaniard. Honestly, Rachel had never seen one before. The thought arose that she had been missing out on a gift from God if every Spaniard was as gorgeous as the specimen before her. There was an air about her of raw power; dark power. The former skeleton had just been about to shift her gaze to take her first look at her blood donor when strong hands held her face firmly.

It was like she was waking from a deep, restful sleep. No... No, that wasn't right... It was _more_ than just awakening. It was a rebirth. She had been reincarnated into her own body. Energy flooded every cell of her body. It was unlike anything that she had ever felt before; it was as though she could do anything she wanted to. When her eyes opened, the world lay before her in a different light. Every color was more vivid and sharper, the contrast higher. Rachel breathed in deeply and _tasted the air. _It was shocking enough for her to stop breathing altogether for a few moments. The death and decay clung to her taste buds. It was a sweet, somehow appealing odor and her brain automatically recognized it. Another steady inhalation allowed her to analyze the the tastes more in depth. There was a storm on the way, dead and rotting corpses all around, burnt chemicals and wood, the two women next to her, and there was... blood on the ground somewhere.

This realization blocked all other thoughts from her mind.

Rachel needed blood. Her gums ached slightly, but it didn't much matter.

"What is your name, girl?" The second woman, presumably, turned her by grasping her shoulders tightly and muscling her around. Rachel blinked at her for a moment, the stray recognition of the girl's beauty swimming through the sea of crimson that washed over her brain. _Blood_.

"Blood." Rachel murmured absently, eyes wild and unfocused. "_I need blood._"

"Yes, yes, we know that, kid. What the hell is your name? Spit it out." Santana snapped with acid.

"Rachel Berry."

"Take a few breaths, Rachel. You'll get blood." The other woman, the one who seemed to be the dominant of the pair, smiled with quiet confidence and warmth. For a second, Rachel ignored her instructions and simply gazed at her. Santana had said she was older, but she couldn't be. Maybe by a few months, but certainly not more than a year or two. The girl, slender with perfect beige skin and golden waves of silk cascading about her shoulders, could not be more than eighteen. Rachel tensed slightly, knowing that someone new had joined their congregation. She could smell it on the air and taste it on her tongue. It wasn't of her own volition that an inhuman growl rumbled from her chest.

"Feisty, isn't she? I like her." A chuckle. Deep and dark and masculine.

"Damon, nice timing. You should take Rachel hunting with you." The blond smirked over Rachel's shoulder at the new arrival.

"My pleasure, Quinn."

**A Note From Snippax**: Usually, I turn my nose up and scoff at Vampire-things since I personally dislike the Twilight series (I need to work on that. Twilight just pushed all of the wrong buttons for me). But, this show happened to have Nina Dobrev in it and I started watching solely because I like her as an actress! Then I got hooked and watched the complete first season and, well, here we are. I have no idea what made me think of Glee and Vampire Diaries, but it made me smile. This will be more of a side project while I work on my Mass Effect story and the companion piece to The Perfect. I hope you enjoy this though!


	2. Chapter 2

Death.

Death is personified in some form in every culture, quietly murmured in almost every language on every continent. There are ceremonies for the joining of two lives just as there are ceremonies for deaths when they sweep over and extinguish a once vibrant light.

The Celts spoke in hushed tone with furtive glances around about the great phantom queen, the Morrígan. She was gorgeous and fearsome and more ferocious than any warrior that they could send into battle. Sometimes she would watch from above, cawing with cruel laughter from her avian form of a crow. Other times, she would sit back and howl into the night as fighters slaughtered each other almost as though it brought her great amusement to watch from afar in the body of a wolf.

She was said to have sleek, fair hair and to be so in touch with the natural forces of the earth that her eyes were the colors of a forest lined with golden rings. They placed her on a pedestal that no one dared to approach because it was revered and feared at the same time. She was both blessed and praised, blamed and damned; a cherished and abhorred figure in a primitive culture of tribes and gods. They prayed to her in the darkest hours of night, alone. They dare not close their eyes during their pleas for fear that she would sweep down and end their lives.

She was the goddess of battle and strife and, ironically, fertility. Many a warrior cried out to her with his dying breath as his throat was cut like cattle, belly gutted like a freshly caught fish, or neck broken like a twig. Many a tribesman swore and screamed at her with a shaking fist for the tension and discord in his family or among his friends that he blamed on her and her alone. Many a mother quietly raised clasped hands and let words float from her mouth into the air as she asked please, oh, please, to be granted a healthy child after a union with her husband.

Over generations, the possibility was posed that perhaps she was not, in fact, a single wondrous, terrible goddess, but three separate goddesses. Such musings were discussed around a fire in the earliest hours of the morning or in a family's private shelter. The possibility, as secretively as it was talked about, managed to bleed into the overall mythology of the Celts. The truth of the matter was muddied until no one was sure exactly what it was. All that they were left with was speculation.

She remembered sitting just beyond the light of the campfires for years and years. They thought that they were being so clever and sneaky to leave their thoughts for a time when hardly anyone was around. They never would have guessed that their goddess had eyes watching and ears listening to their every spoken thought. It was amusing to hear such mortal ramblings about supposed higher powers. They had no idea that their stories came from a very real, very human encounter of hers with a narcissistic boy named Cú Chulainn lifetimes ago. They saw hailed him as a hero of folklore while she knew he had just been a flesh and blood child wanting to make himself look better. The rumors of their 'relations' had been spread by the lad himself.

She had chuckled when he died.

She had gone by many a name over the centuries. Some she had chosen for herself after growing bored of being addressed by the same thing lifetime after lifetime. Some she had simply been granted by those who thought her a goddess come to earth. When she had grown bored of simple massacres and torture, it pleased her to sit back and pretend that she was simply alive; an interested traveler passing by a settlement. It was interesting how intricately people could weave a tale about their legendary cultural figures and present it as fact.

No one really knew that their precious deities were based on a single person: Her.

Quinn was the _original_ harbinger of death.

Quinn had been around for a _long _time. She had turned, had been cursed some would say, when she was no more than eighteen-years old. That was that. She had been sentenced to an endless life as little more than a teenager. It wasn't just her. Her entire family had become beings of the vampiric variety. They had splintered from each other, her from them more quickly than the others.

As far as she knew, only two of her brothers were still alive. The other three, and their parents, were long dead. Re-dead, perhaps the better phrase would be. Not Quinn, though. Quinn was and always had been a survivor. She began traveling the moment that she felt the unrest in her family and that saved her more or less immortal life.

No one knew the extent of her history, not even her closest and only true friends. That was saying a lot, considering just how much she trusted those two particular people in her life. A testament to her faith in them was when she told them her real name; the name that she had been born with. It was a name that only they and her family knew; a long forgotten, ancient name.

Quinn rolled her shoulders, calmly inspecting her pristine nails as she awaited the return of her friends. They were in woods close to a little nowhere town because the supernatural world had been all abuzz with rumors. Unpleasant, nasty rumors. Her first instance in hearing the, hopefully false, news had come after running into an old werewolf associate. He was on the move with the rest of his pack but definitely owed and respected her enough to fill her in.

The word flying around the underworld of magical beings was that there was the fucking doppelgänger had not only been discovered, but had subsequently been murdered by a very old vampire. The High Council had been thrown into chaos with the new development and, as a result, it had been decided that all packs were to migrate to new territories in an attempt to stay out of the way of what they were calling the beast of Hell itself. It didn't take a genius to see what the High Council was trying to accomplish by quietly moving the packs.

The werewolves were running.

The Coven had cautioned all connected members, witches and warlocks, to go about their lives with extreme caution. Those with the highest rankings in The Coven had already scattered to the four winds without a trace of having ever existed. It left the average witch or warlock alone with lowered defenses against the evil that they all knew was coming sooner than anyone cared to put a voice to. They did one of two things: they fled or found others and stuck together in the hopes that their power would be enough protection.

The Conclave demanded that all Bast stick closely with their tribes and that they never go anywhere alone. The order trickled down to the lower-levels too late when families were found playfully slaughtered in their homes. The police declared it a brutal serial killer that they were putting all efforts into finding. They wouldn't succeed. It wasn't as though a group of Bast would be any more capable of fighting off the monster, but it gave everyone a sense of purpose and hope. They were as tightly knit a species as werewolves were and morale was of the utmost importance.

And so the list went on and on.

She had at least one contact in every single species of supernatural creature in existence. Hell, she had even had contacts with species that had since gone extinct. It was both a benefit and a downfall of having lived as long as she had. The core message was that everyone was gearing up for a battle; a battle too soon coming. Much too soon. Each species was being forced to consider which side they would join. They could join the beast or join those who would undoubtedly rise against it. The latter forces would probably die.

"Q."

"Report?"

"They're here."

"Thought so." Pause. "And Katerina?"

"I'm not sure."

"Let's go have a chat then, shall we?"

The knock on the door was not answered right away. Santana gave her a slight shrug as they waited and Rachel fidgeted in obvious impatience. Quinn couldn't help but to roll her eyes at her youngest companion. At eighty-one years old, the girl was less wild than a newborn but still essentially a lose cannon. A loose, easily bored cannon that would blow up a castle just for the sheer joy of having something to do. Still, at least she listened to _her_.

When the door was opened, it was not answered by tall, dark and sexy nor was it answered by slightly-less-tall, dark and brooding. In fact, the person who greeted them was not only not a vampire, she was a carbon copy of a insolent young woman Quinn knew from a long while back. For a full minute, a calculating swirl of greens and browns took in curiously wary chocolate browns. The time was enough for her to gauge the individual before her. She was slender, attractive and with an air of innocence and pure intent about her that Quinn had not encountered for a very long time.

"This is the Salvatore residence." It was a statement, not a question. It caused the girl's eyebrows to shoot upwards, startled.

"Yes. It is."

"You aren't dead." Another statement. Quinn took a slight step nearer, tilting her head slightly.

"Obviously not." The eyes narrowed and she glanced over her shoulder, obviously trying to locate someone.

"Alright, Lana Lang, where the fuck are the boys?" Santana's voice was short and harsh.

"Santana." Spoken warningly.

A mumbled apology.

"Doppelgänger." The pursed lips parted slightly and the eyes widened. "Where _are _the Salvatores? I'm... an old friend. _We _are old friends. All of us."

It wasn't long before a tall figure silently came behind the girl, a hand resting on her shoulder. His face broke into a forced grin. The grin that he always wore when he was angry or stressed. Obviously, it wasn't all fun and games around the Salvatore house. Her eyes flickered from the hand on the doppelgänger to young man who was far older than he appeared to be.

"Damon."

"Quinn." His eyes moved to the two behind her. "Santana. Rachel."

"So, can we come in or would you like to have this conversation outside?" Quinn turned her attention solely to the brunette in front of her again. "Considering that this girl very much has a beating heart, this talk is happening one way or another."

For a long few moments, Damon looked down at the girl that he seemed to think was his to protect if that expression on his face was anything to judge by. It was as though they were having a very intense exchange using only their eyes and minute changes in facial expression. He glanced over at the trio and then back down. She gave a firm nod, took in a deep breath and stepped to the side of the door so that she was no longer in the way.

"Please, the three of you, come in."


End file.
